‘And you were quite right,’ returned Tarrant, with a laugh.  ’I am a born artist in indolence.  It’s the pity of pities that circumstances will frustrate Nature’s purpose.’

‘You think you can support yourself by journalism?’

‘I must try.—­Run your eye over that.’

He took from the table a slip of manuscript, headed, ’A Reverie in Wall Street.’  Munden read it, sat thoughtful for a moment, and laughed.

‘Devilish savage.  Did you write it after a free lunch?’

’Wrote it this morning.  Shall I try one of the evening papers with it,—­or one of the weeklies?’

Munden suggested a few alterations, and mentioned the journal which he thought might possibly find room for such a bit of satire.

‘Done anything else?’

’Here’s a half-finished paper—­“The Commercial Prospects of the Bahamas."’

‘Let me look.’

After reading a page or two with critically wrinkled forehead, Munden laid it down.

’Seems pretty solid,—­libellous, too, I should say.  You’ve more stuff in you than I thought.  All right:  go ahead.—­Come and dine with me to-morrow, to meet a man who may be useful.’

‘To-morrow I can’t.  I dine at Lady Pollard’s.’

‘Who is she?’

’Didn’t you know Pollard of Trinity?—­the only son of his mother, and she a widow.’

‘Next day, then.’

‘Can’t.  I dine with some people at Bedford Park.’

Munden lifted his eyebrows.

’At this rate, you may live pretty well on a dress suit.  Any more engagements?’

’None that I know of.  But I shall accept all that offer.  I’m hungry for the society of decent English people.  I used to neglect my acquaintances; I know better now.  Go and live for a month in a cheap New York boarding-house, and you’ll come out with a wholesome taste for English refinement.’

To enable his friend to read, Tarrant had already lit a lamp.  Munden, glancing about the room, said carelessly: 

‘Do you still possess the furniture of the old place?’

‘No,’ was the answer, given with annoyance.  ’Vawdrey had it sold for me.’

‘Pictures, books, and all the nick-nacks?’

’Everything.—­Of course I’m sorry for it; but I thought at the time that I shouldn’t return to England for some years.’

‘You never said anything of that kind to me.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ the other replied gloomily.  And all at once he fell into so taciturn a mood, that his companion, after a few more remarks and inquiries, rose from his chair to leave.

From seven to nine Tarrant sat resolutely at his table, and covered a few pages with the kind of composition which now came most easily to him,—­a somewhat virulent sarcasm.  He found pleasure in the work; but after nine o’clock his thoughts strayed to matters of personal interest, and got beyond control.  Would the last post of the evening bring him an answer to a letter he had despatched this morning?  At length he laid down his pen, and listened nervously for that knock which, at one time or another, is to all men a heart-shaking sound.